


Gayuma: Poison

by yellowmark



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Dark Academia, Dark Magic, Friendship/Love, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love Triangles, M/M, Minor Violence, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, References to Drugs, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowmark/pseuds/yellowmark
Summary: Their devotion was brewing with poisonYet he dares not to sanctify these sinsThese masks are made for deceivingIn the end, he’d choose real loveNo sacrileges; no insecurities; no affectationsIt’s romance with a sad ending
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Mark Tuan, Im Jaebum | JB/Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang, Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang, Park Jinyoung/Jackson Wang
Comments: 35
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love coffee, dark academia, old poetry (even though I'm not good at it), dark magic, and sad boys too much.
> 
> Song prompt: Trust My Love and Poison by Got7  
> 

####  **I’m Sorry I Love You**

[I'm tired of always chasing after you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nxs_mpWt2BA)

Mornings are always filled with anticipation, hinted with a tad bit if excitement. Tiny hands on the window sill as he stands on his tippy toes to see if the black car had arrive. Hear the sounds of the engine die, he’d be down to the front door in a heartbeat.

Jackson greets him as he usually does, smiling a mile wide as he rushes to Mark’s side. He begins to recall the little things he saw on the way to their mansion like Mr. Frog’s cello performance for Ms. Caterpillar, and how his governess scolded him for the nth time before they change into their bright white ensembles and metal masks. 

Mark is silent. He listens to everything Jackson tells him. The world around him blurs. Like lenses, his sole focus stays on the boy before him. The stark contrast of his vision tells a deep longing for his accompaniment. Jackson can go on and on and on and on of his day, and he will be fine with it. His words are his lullaby. Sweet sounding and calming amidst the reckless joys of youth. 

Jackson was more than a sparring partner. Neither just a classmate nor a son of a good family friend of his dad. He was his best friend; He was his other half. Saying that they are a puzzle piece would be an understatement—nothing alike yet fits perfectly together. 

With a saber in his hand, Jackson challenges his fellow young friend. Sharp eyes, strong posture, sweaty skins, tense gazes, and rhythmic heartbeats. A clear display of a true prodigy. Jackson is unmatched, Mark long knew. He had no desires in changing that.

The young boy tells Mark of his dreams to make it to a good school when he grows up. One that his father said he will be able to make use of his passion in fencing. He woefully tells him that he is less than his best friend’s probity and that it would lead him to a different direction. 

Mark doesn’t want to hear such devious nonsense. 

Between the goofy smiles and fallen crumbs is their sweet innocent laughter. Jackson spills his milk before apologizing. Mark, of course, forgives him. After brunch, Mark takes him to their garden. When the sun is generous and the fields are greener, they pick out their baskets and grab as much red spade fruits their tiny hands could get. 

His hands in his. The two young boys skip back to the mansion. Mark’s nanny scolded them for getting their shoes and the terrazzo floors muddy again. They eat their strawberries in the foyer after washing them thoroughly (she made them do it).

Alas, their day comes to an end. Goodbye’s must be exchanged and Mark makes sure Jackson has enough fruits to eat on his way back home. 

Fear not, they should for the day keeps repeating in an endless loop. Mark loves routines. He loves repeating on the same memories all day everyday. All he ever needs is Jackson. Not his work obsessed father nor the lavish lifestyle his mother wants for him. 

It was Jackson who showed him what the world looked like behind the dull white walls and between the giant pillars. He needed not for silk blouses and shinny shoes to impress him. Boring balls and intense orchestra music needed not to play a huge part for banter. All he ever needed was himself. 

Mark often felt lonely. Sometimes even when with Jackson, he is reminded of the disappointment that he is. Jackson is a star. He could have everything he ever wanted, yet, he chooses to be with him all these times. Jackson is the one person who did not abandon him. 

People come and go. Mark learned that the hard way. All the money in the world could not buy him all the happiness he wanted though. 

Why is Jackson still with him? He can have better things, meet far interesting people than he is, go see the world in a different view. Why must he linger and dwell under his sufferings too? No beauty beyond compare can grasp the treacherous truth behind this mask of his. 

There is no miracle, only misfortunes. It’s easy to see the world through a kaleidoscope lens if they weren’t Mark. They wouldn’t know. 

They hardly even notice their uniforms getting too small for them and are in need of a new one. How else could a tiny ensemble fit Jackson’s protruding chest and thunderous thighs? His thinner frame could not compare to his masculine beauty. What a shame. 

The way Jackson’s new uniform hugs his sculpted body in the best way possible, gave Mark a foreign feeling. That feeling of warmth below his hips and between his legs, grew frustrations and need. Aching and numbing. He felt as if he is about to fall apart. 

Jackson asked him what was wrong but he too didn’t know. Mark didn’t want to look weak in front of Jackson for the nth time so he told him he was fine. 

The same feeling once again teases him when they go the lake the next day. Jackson had his shirt tossed to the side, putting his years of hard work on full display. Not even the coldness of the green waters could tame the raging burn in the pit of his stomach. 

It was getting worse by day so Mark goes to their family doctor to make sure he is not dying. He later learns that day that he is in fact not dying. Thank god. However, he also learns that the human mind and body prompts temptations, enkindling lustrous desires and thoughts for a growing man. 

A farce, Mark thinks. Jackson is his best friend, why would he think of such? Yet his credence would come to question him one more time as these days grow in numbers. Mark recognizes the absence of these affection towards other faces. No one has able to make him feel the way Jackson does to him. He can’t find the same desire towards another man or woman. It was growing more than just lust. He yearns for Jackson. His heart, soul, and groin aches for him. 

The natural urge to place his hand in his, how they easily make up the other, the hushed whispers, the close contacts, deep gazes, the shared tears, and desperate touches. Dare not to call his dedication a lie. 

It was the night of his 18th birthday. His parents threw a masquerade ball for him in honor of his manhood. Jackson pulls him away from the crowd and to the garden. He knows Mark hates crowded places. They stare too long and mumble how much of a peculiar child he was. Jackson gives him the serenity this time, not him. 

The moment he slips his gift for him, he is lost. Forbearance shall be his enemy. Cold nights and lustrous transition metal accessories were nothing to the fiery song in his heart. That night, he knows now…He knows he is deeply in love with his best friend.

。。。

[Someday you'll find all who love are blind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggrmVdOp3XA)

Jackson has no one to visit at the mansion as college days roll around. Mark is the first to go while Jackson still has year left. Before Mark leaves, he stays by his side the entire time since no one else would be there for him. The station is full of bustling gents and women scurrying, bumping, yelling, shoving. It becomes hard to hear one’s own voice but Mark made sure Jackson can only hear him and him only.

They part with a promise that Jackson will be there to greet him first once he comes back. Oh, how Mark wished he could have sealed their oath with a kiss but the journey is gruesome and merciless. He would have to wait another day. Mark is left once again with his poignant thoughts as he watches one tree at a time disappear from his sight while in his red velvet seat. 

Grey clouds and wet streets. Everything around Mark is so miserable. He hates it already. Grumpy roommate greets him by the door of their shared dorm room. Presenting with an undershirt and a towel draped over his nape, splotches of rainbows all over his pants and top. If it weren’t for the cigarette between his paling lips, Mark would say he is attractive. Vices aren’t his thing…for a reason. 

Mr. Grumpy is known as Im Jaebum. First impressions lasts, but the clock does the job. He paints. An artist; a visionary, he claims. Of course. Like the long hair tied in a bun didn’t make that clear for him. A world is found on the tip of his brushes. He creates life on his canvas with hues, shades, and textures. 

Mark thinks he is pathetic for believing in such. Jaebum argues that the numbers in Mark’s books are fixed while art is infinite. They can poke fun at him all they want but never dare say art is inferior to anything to his face. 

He likes his roommate’s ideas; He envies Jaebum’s freedom. Mark sees the child of him in Jaebum. The one he let them take away and now look where that got him. 

Sugared black coffees, vanilla scents in degrading books, brown sweaters, musky rains, cigarette smokes, and jazz. It’s depression in one setting. His meaning as a student falters as his thoughts dwindle to obscurity. Stacks of textbooks and crumpled sheets clutter less of a hindrance than his troubled mind. 

Jaebum waves an envelope in front of him with the messy cursive “Mark” written on it. The paper inside is fresh, more youthful and alive compared to the previous one he read on. Jackson writes the events happening back at his place, detailing stories of his exhausting training and plans for the semester break. His words come in and play a scene. He may not be profound, but it’s the essence that matters. 

Stashed under his bed is a neatly organized collection of letters from Jackson in chronological order. When doubt comes to plague his dreams, he reads all the letters. He’ll find himself grinning and silently praying for a better tomorrow. 

Mark learns a lot on his first year in college. Mostly from Jaebum, that is. One of the things he learned is the word “homosexual” and that Jaebum is one. Every once in a while, he brings whoever is his boyfriend at that time to their dorm and was only then Mark able to understand what relationships could be. 

On nights when Jaebum thinks Mark is out drinking his self-loathing away, he begs his boyfriend to stay. Sweaty bodies under messy sheets. Mark hears the faint moans of his roommate and his boyfriend from the stairway beside their room where he lets the woes bring his tears out. 

Mark thinks Jaebum doesn’t believe in love because he always has a new boyfriend almost every month. Artistic differences, he would defend. There is one that stuck out to Mark though. A younger male, adorable, cheerful, musically talented, and everything he wasn’t. He is the one Mark liked the most. 

Youngjae manages to keep Jaebum safe and sane. And maybe, just maybe, for once Mark had hope for true love. The anchor to the boat. He was the one to keep the other at a state. He saw that with him and Jackson. Youngjae makes Mark hopeful. So does Jackson but his was different. Somehow in the middle of adversity will rise a vision for the future, one without the gloomy weather. Youngjae’s laugh is contagious and drags their sad excuse of a dorm room out of the shadows. He makes the rain go away and that’s no joke. 

Unfortunately they didn’t last. Mark now knows that it was Jaebum’s smoking habits, drug use, and obsession with perfection in his painting that drives them away. 

Mark knows how it feels so he dragged him out of their room on a Sunday to a tavern. There he smells Jaebum's smokes as he tells him he might be queer too and that he had only loved one man all his life. Jaebum laughed. His roommate is a fool and a virgin. 

Would it surprise him that opposites aren’t the only ones that attract?

Jaebum began to see the world through his canvas like he is told. Yellow is a color of sadness and only he could understand that. Colors are not happiness. So for Mark’s birthday, he gifts him a charcoal portrait of him. Blurry textures with details perfected down to the very last curve. Shadows highlight every best feature of him; his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his Adam’s apple, and his bottom lip. The world around the portrait is empty, yet, it told a story. The absence of one thing does not make it disappear. 

He captured the beauty Mark never knew he had. 

Mark is special to Jaebum because he is the only person who still sees him as a person behind the drugs, smokes, and rage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Play those songs like a vinyl

####  **Poison Stained Love**

[What must I do to get through to you?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOPctV78_Ro)

Jaebum is doleful. He sees the world on fire, leaving nothing but frail ashes for the survivors. There are extraordinary men and women who propel this reality into breaking boundaries and expand fiction further to its limits. He can tell Mark is not one of them. His mind was too cloudy to be able to fill those pages.

Faute de mieux, he walks out of the theatre with his envy greener than ever. Success only tastes better when it’s yours. For now, the second-hand pride in his tongue tastes like shit. Were they trying to kill him with his sorrows back there? That should be the last time he goes out to watch his friends thrive in their creation. 

He enters the dorm after finishing a coffin nail outside the building because his roommate wouldn’t like smelling smoke for the nth time this week. Jaebum did not expect to see Mark still awake at this hour, let alone bawling his eyes out with a letter in his hand and liquid painkillers, or Bushmills in his vocabulary because shut up, in his coffee mug. 

So his not-really-a-boyfriend friend got an actual boyfriend and that apparently means it’s the end of the world. He cries and curses at this man named Jinyoung for taking his one true love away from him. This posh wannabe got Jackson swinging in a different direction before he could even. Out of all the fruits in the salad, he had to choose a fucking Jinyoung. Did he really not make him gay all these years? And there he was thinking all this time that he might have been back in the night at the pool club when he hit a 7 in one go. 

Mark buries his head in his hands, letting his broken and pathetic sobs strangle himself until his tears blur out his roommate’s silhouette. Jaebum takes his own coat off before walking over to Mark. He carries the scrawny male to his bed, draping his itchy wool blanket over them. He warns him not to cry loud enough for him to wake up in the middle of the night but not before calling him out on using vices on his problems. 

He thought Jaebum knew what relationships were. Well, he sees it differently, but he doesn’t know that. Heartaches are temporary just like a human life so what’s there to worry about? Love is nothing but a joke. 

It’s sloppy mornings, short tempered profs, iced coffees for lunch, balancing numbers (why doesn’t his ending balance ever match with Bailey’s?!), research stuff, rainy nights, and the sound of the double bass under the brown lighting on repeat for Mark. The new school year has brought nothing but despair for him. Other than Park fucking Jinyoung, Jackson’s fencing schedules had limited his freedom for him. His letters now arrive less frequent compared to last year now that the younger too has started going to uni. 

He knows Jackson will make it in the big leagues. Mark has seen the prowess of that man. Arguably more frequent than anyone else. Goddammit, he isn’t ready to lose Jackson. He is only 3 hours away from his uni, but even then it’s difficult to find the time and energy. Things were so much better when they were only children.

The final nail in the coffin for Mark is Jackson’s joyous letter sharing of his pride to be the one to deflower his bitter ~~sweet~~ rival, Park fucking Jinyoung. 

Mark had always been Jackson’s first everything. He should have been the first to take his virginity too and him to his as well. 

Empedocles taught him that love is the root for the attraction of various forms of matter, while strife is the cause of their separation. He is also the first recorded man to commit suicide by jumping into a volcano. Unfortunately, there are no volcanoes close to where Mark is. However, mankind has gracefully brought more to the table for him to choose.

  * ~~a knife to the heart~~
    get it? cuz hes a fencer? no too literal
  * ~~death from dehydration~~
    shit jaebum said he’d take me to the pub tonight and like hell i wont be drinking. does that count?
  * ~~drown in the lake~~
    gated
  * ~~jump off a building~~
    going to heaven but only falling
  * ~~hunger strike~~
    i think my body is used to eating air now
  * ~~gun duh~~
    too easy and quick
  * ~~suffocation~~
    doesnt feel right
  * ~~stand in front of train rail~~
    but the little kids
  * pois



Jaebum pulls him up from his bed and drags him out. He always knew that the guy was slow but, good God, is he _slow_. 

One…two…three…four…five shots turned to bottles on the un-mopped floor. Mr. Thompson can really blow that sax right. Rule of fifths, don’t be slow. Swing, cig, black and white tiles, cry, feather hats, blow. People are fucking depressed, huh?

Mark laughs his sorrows away while Jaebum hurls his ass off the ground. He curses when it begins to rain on them. Sober and broken, now he really feels pathetic. They spot a store lit up so they rushed over to there. Maybe it was a pawn shop or something of that sorts. They didn’t have any signage so it was hard telling. But really, they were too out of their minds to notice what store they went in. 

An angry pretty lady tells them to get out but they had skulls thick as her glasses. They swear not to be of grievances, showing a more calmer state then they previously were. It was her business, literally. She pries off of the vulnerable lugubrious twat, letting him pour his heart out as she pours hers in a objet d'art worthy-looking bottle. Fancy. She might have been drunk too for all Mark knows, chanting gibberish and making all these weird gestures like she was on something. 

Mark wanted to end his pain: She wanted to pay her rent. 

He’s not really into that kind of jazz so he roams around the shop on his own. Jaebum then finds an intricate ashtray and begs Mark to buy it for him too since he’s a broke art student with a rich mind. Well where else was his money going? 

He should have known better, he took marketing classes before. Mark asked himself if he’s being scammed or if he’s being too desperate. 

The only man he ever exerted this much effort on was Jackson only so fuck it! He’s going to get him back. Or better yet, make that Jinyoung guy know he’s just some sexual experiment of a first love.

。。。

[Others might think that I’m naive and stupid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUYxR1IPFsU)

Summer rolls around quick. Mark barely remembers what he learned, let alone what he did in uni. He is on a ride leading back to home, clenching the tiny bottle in his hand like his life depends on it. Jackson promises to meet him at the station for his arrival and sure enough the younger comes greeting him with a giant smile and a warm hug.

But of course, Park fucking Jinyoung had to be there with him too. Mark is not ashamed to put his displeasure on full display. The audacity of Park fucking Jinyoung to put his hand out for Mark to take. Jackson, however, is ecstatic to have the two most important men in his life to finally meet.

Mark mutes the whole world around them as he listens to Jackson’s experience in professional training and his first year in his uni. Flashes of memories come back to him like it was never the way it had become. The time when it was back to just being him and Jackson, his one true love. 

In his childhood room, he recalls the first time he drank poison. It hits you differently, he tells Jackson. The world will be just as he sees it if he drinks like he does. Oh, please forgive him for he does not have a voice. Love is blind, love opens the soul, love is mad, love is him, love is what he yearns. 

His love is all he ever needs and his love will be his. 

One…two…three…four…five months since he last heard from him. 

One for his attention; 

Two for his lips; 

Three for his love; 

Four for his lust; 

Five for his entire body, soul, and heart

Clink, their glasses go. A celebratory drink for his best friend. He gulps down the drink like he never saw water for days. Blurry and incoherent. Was this how Mark saw the world? It aches, it strangles him, it’s deathly. His worried eyes gives tears. Mark lays him down on his bed, telling him that he’s here now.

Jackson wakes up with the sunrise greeting him as it peeks through the windows. He sees Mark’s sleeping frame beside him, curled into a ball with tears and alcohol stained in his shirt. Why did he make him feel this way? Why did he ever hurt him? He didn’t belong to this misery. 

So wrong, it feels too good. It should have been Mark all this time. He’s the same friend so why does he feels this way? Has he been wrong all these years? It didn’t hurt when Jackson thought of telling him it was over. Jinyoung is no one of significance to him compared to the man whose forehead is against his. He had been a fool. 

Jackson takes Mark’s hand in his as they stroll around their garden. He promises him he’s going to break up with Jinyoung and Mark couldn’t be any happier. The strawberries had been transferred to a different side of the garden but they were too caught up with each other’s taste to care. 

By the nectarine tree, Mark has his fantasies granted. Jackson holds him ever so gently in the palm of his hands. He caresses his cheeks like he was the most valuable thing in the world. Untamed hands and breathy moans. Their eyes radiate the happiness he knew he could have with Jackson.

Jackson is a man with dignity. He does not wish for a rush in Mark. Let it linger a little more. He wants to be this drunk all the time. With Mark. Under the sunlight, comes springing their love that has just begun. 

The new year school year comes and so do new challenges but these moments will be placed in a frame for them to keep. They board on the same train, on the same velvet seat. They make out as they passed Mr. Winstfel’s farm and Mrs. Angu’s cattle field, warming each other with their touches. Jackson no longer taste the alcohol in Mark’s tongue, only creamed coffee. 

Mark gets off on the 8th stop but not before giving his _boyfriend_ one final kiss. A kiss, oh, so sweet, the conductor had to scold him for enjoying it too much. He promises to write more often and to visit when he has the time. The wax seal stamp in his hand shall be manifestation of that said promise. Carved with a customized design that Jackson claims he thought of himself. A little baby bird surrounded with raveling curves around it. He’ll be their ‘I love you a million times more than a pious does to his God’.

Jaebum holds a ginger cat in his arms when Mark arrives. He asks how his summer break went to which he tells that if he took a summer break, no one would have taken care of his new adopted cat, Fag. Yes, Fag. This queer who smokes named his cat ‘Fag’.

Rain comes less often now that his love has been exchanged. No longer shall he need for love pain killers in his coffee mug for he has no pain in his heart left to kill. An invisible force pushing two hearts towards each other, with the cost of another. 

Jaebum learns of Mark’s relationship with the guy he has been (not really) chasing after all the years. Mark’s gets his boyfriend and he gets his worthlessness. Pardon the self-loathing. 

He misses the mutual misery. Now the room is as cherry as the bright sunny day in one side, and gloomy like a funeral in the other. Jaebum lost his drinking partner, the man who shared the woes of romance, his late night cuddle buddy when days got too rough, his wallet, his muse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate art.

####  **“The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in.”  
― Morrie Schwartz, Tuesdays with Morrie**

[I found a thrill I've never known](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qJU8G7gR_g)

Rains are no longer the desolate tears of pity from the heavens like he used to think. Now the petrichor in the air comes along with the memories of foggy windows, beignets, Jackson almost breaking a tea saucer, and coffee. The romance hidden beneath the storm. There was jazz on the streets while there was Connie Francis singing about someone making her carry someone’s books for them on the radio.

This is how it feels to be his. Mark finally gets to live his dream. A dream. Yes, it feels like a dream but this isn’t one. Jackson is really there, kissing their intertwined fingers, whispering how much he adores him, and flashing him that beautiful smile he recognizes as they walk under a shared umbrella trough the cold afternoon.

Letters every second week and rendezvouses on the third Sunday of the month. Three hours of commute filled with anticipation and excitement is the right sacrifice he has to give. It feels more than enough, yet it didn’t. No more drunken weekends for Mark. Jackson has helped him pull his head out of his hole of self-hate. He showed him the wondrous aftermath of the storm—it feels magical. 

_It’s all smokes and mirrors._

This love they have shall be a flower of his. He must take care of it, cherish it, make it feel alive, admire its colors. 

Even when they part, this illusion called love grows stronger day by day. This one man waltz feels empty without having him in his hands. A dance for an eternity, they will not mind. In this cotillion, he shall not dare to have another partner. Neither swift spins nor flirty banter are elegant enough to swoop them off their feet apart from each other. 

_You forced him into this._

Jackson informs his love of his tournament. A man from a foreign country will come to see his performance, someone who has the power to decide whether or not he shall be worthy to be honored with such a daring title. He will have to shift his attention to fencing for the month so no dates for now.

Mark wishes him all the luck he doesn’t need. A long loving kiss goodbye on the lips before they board on their respective rides back to their universities. Jackson may not need the luck, but he’ll be needing Mark for the competition. 

_You’re being too much._

Nothing speaks “I’m a Business student that contemplates Accountancy as the last and/or better option who tries too hard by dressing up like he’s in the best department in the entire university, therefore I am far sophisticated compared you” like an all-black outfit consisting of a turtleneck, trouser, brogues, and an overcoat made out of natural materials, topped off with a wire-frame glasses (occasionally paired with his Omega watch) as a casual attire. 

The gates are high and mighty but they won’t stop Mark. He got Jaebum to help him boost him up, over, and out with the promise of accompanying him to the art museum he’s been nagging for days and to be the one to buy Fag’s food for next week. 

The way to and in Jackson’s university is no breeze. This forlorn man’s uptown nature contrasts the brazen environment full of varsities and aspiring athletic scholars like it was a chess board minefield. However, Mark weaves through the premise like he did nothing wrong, sneakily blending in with the rest until he spots the man he has been searching for. 

_Stop lying to yourself._

Jackson pushes his boyfriend to the corner to give him a furtive greeting on the lips. They smile as they kiss, breathy moans, tight pulls, warm bodies, closed eyes, and soft longing touches as Mark’s being pushed against the brick wall. The fire inside his loins flare up like they did the last time Mark saw Jackson in a fencing uniform. It’s the surprise they both didn’t expect to be receiving. 

Jackson whispers as he assures Mark that he shall have the best seat in the entire area, proud to have his boyfriend here on his special day, albeit knavish and risky. 

No school cheer loudest in the world could compare to the ranging beat of his heart as Jackson puts on his helmet then steps on the platform. This empire he had built around him; the fame, passion, dedication, and glory means nothing now. Him and this reputation. 

Mark is there waiting by the campus, near the university’s statue, for his boyfriend to meet him after his victory party with his father, coach, friends, and fellow athletes. He spotted a familiar _ex_ foe, eyes green and red, snarling at his triumph. 

_You have wronged an innocent man._

Trivial matters will remain in the past now that he’s in the high. 

Jackson takes him out for dinner to that inexpensive fine dining French restaurant he’s been eyeing for the past month. Its popularity and prices bring in a lot of customers, especially on a Friday night, but that’s not a problem for them now that they have the excuse to be as close as they wish. 

Mark used to drown his despair with alcohol, now he drowns every bit of insecurity left in him with it for this night. From the hotel lobby to their paid room, they indulge in the taste of fermented fruits on the tip of their tongues. Nervous hands on Jackson’s button-down shirt, sober kisses, and soft laughter. This night is cold, but the rain is away. 

The bar across the building raises its volume of fast tempos, laughter, crescendos, applause, snare, whistles. He has never felt so alive. The rush. It’s surreal. He loves it. Everything is real. Mark loves all of it. 

It’s making him dizzy but that’s the point. 

His leather belt tossed to the side, followed by every piece of clothing they wore. Jackson’s heart never beat this loudly and painfully before, not even during the match earlier. He grazes on Mark’s neck down to his abdomen, savoring every little sound he made as he fists his hair. Begging, crying, praising, pleading, and moaning. 

Mark felt the care and abuse he has been fantasizing with his best friend. It hurts. But this is it. This is love. Real love. Raw, passionate, spicy love. 

The emotions he held in for so long now ravishes in these touches. He doesn’t hold it in. Mark lets go of everything. 

Skin to skin. Ankles on Jackson’s back. Mark yearns for more. Hands roam free to wherever, scratching and tugging. Eyes shut tight as soft tears roll down to the sheets beneath them, getting mixed up with the sweat and saliva. 

He pulls his love to a deep kiss as he moved in a rhythm he could only match with an intimate tango. With his flame and Jackson’s, he never knew it could get better. It’s alive and burning bright. The pain. The pleasure. The passion. 

Jackson pulls him up, one arm around Mark’s back, one under the back of his knee to keep him in place. He guides his love to the rhythm, whispering confessions in his kisses as he gives him his all and takes it all. Mark wraps his arms under Jackson’s, feeling his knees buckle from all the pain now turned pleasure. 

Mirroring their lover’s cries of satisfaction with shaky breaths and trembling hands. One last love drunken kiss goodnight before getting drunk on a different love. It’s there in his eyes, Mark can see it. 

That’s right. Just like this. In Jackson arms is where he feels he should be. He regrets nothing. 

_You tricked him._

All he ever needs is Jackson.

。。。

[Smoked cigarettes on the grass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwIljfQrZyE)

What is there to regret? Love is certainly not to be. Whenever they’re apart, the pain gets stronger and so does the frustration. His letters will be there to tame the range clawing its way out of his system for now. The greater the distance, the worse the longing gets.

But there’s Jaebum to help him get his head in a different turn for the moment. Not that he asked for him to. 

They walk around the museum as Mark silently wishes to be back at the dorm. His roommate raves on the creativity before them, basking on the glory that never was his. This trip is nothing more but to punish himself for his lack of competency and ardor. 

Mark knows, however, that it’s all in Jaebum’s head. Of course he won’t find the beauty “lacking” in his artwork present in other canvases because it’s never there. The fools’ paradise of perfection cannot exist in both artists’ eyes, therefore the perfect art is a lie. Result is the perfection to many because people tend to forget that there is a white layer of paint under these beige walls. 

Jaebum asks Mark of his favorite works of all time. He replies by telling him that whenever he’s impressed he’ll love it but if there’s something better because of the background, he’d pity it so his question is pointless. 

Like Camille Claudel. Mark admires her works. He grew to love the [Sakuntala](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sakuntala_\(Claudel\)) because the concept hits home all too well. [The Waltz](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Waltz_\(Claudel\)), he too worships. So much passion, grace, and dolorous. Jaebum tells him of the grimmer story believed to come alone with it but Mark tells him that art is a story artists want to tell while they, the audience, are left to interpret it as they wish it to be. 

He thinks he’s being a fool again and that her [The Mature Age](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mature_Age) is definitely best out of all. 

Fits all too well, doesn’t it?

On their way back, Mark asks Jaebum how he got into art. And so he recalls the day he heard about Caravaggio’s [Basket of Fruit](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basket_of_Fruit_\(Caravaggio\)). He was amazed of just how much power colors truly hold. That smudge of rainbow in his palette could bring life in death, make reality his with his brushes, tell a story, let the world know how he felt. Infinity is found in art yet it chains the artists mind. 

Mark has been to Milan before. He saw the painting, and he agrees. The contrast of darkness brings life more than people notice. People are too caught up in the reality they want to believe that they forget what it actually is. They can’t even tell if it’s oil or acrylic. 

On this day and night description of the weather be the emphasis of just how truly out of grasp Mark is. His shamelessly buoyant reference to the [Death of the Virgin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_the_Virgin_\(Caravaggio\)), speaks metaphors under his tone. An innuendo, he would know. 

An homage to Caravaggio’s hints? Mark did it horribly, if Jaebum were to describe. How gay. 

Once he understood, Jaebum has his heart ripped out his chest. Broken and beaten. All this time, he bit his lip and said nothing. For some time he thought that maybe if he played his cards right, he’d see an opening. 

Mark is a fool for being this blind. He had Jaebum wrapped around his finger and he doesn’t even see it. 

Was this how Mark felt when he learned Jackson took Jinyoung’s virginity that night? That night when he was the one who hugged Mark to sleep. That night when they shared his old ass blanket. That night when his body trembled at the sight of the male picking up the pieces of his shattered hopes. That night when even if his dignity was dented, he still tore down his walls for him. 

Not even his sticks of death could mend his broken souls, let alone fix his crushed affections. 

Fag places himself beside him, resting its tiny head in the crook Jaebum’s neck as he laid down with his heart on a fork. He thought meeting someone new would make him forget of his pathetic attraction towards Mark. 

He went back to his routine of sleeping with different men every night but it’s not that easy. Not when the man he’s trying to forget was the man who slept on the bed across from his. The drugs weren’t helping either. Plus, exams are coming up so he needs to be pocketing his money and not screw around.

Out of all the men he could fall in love with, his heart had to choose the one furthest from him. Prostitutes would be thinking they had a chance with him but he doesn’t even spare them a single glance. 

All the sex he could have, he is still not content. 

It pains him more than ever to see him open his letter from that boyfriend and when he leaves to their regular date. The fact that Mark arrives later than usual on Sunday, sometimes even stretching out to Monday, proves that he wasn’t lying. 

The thought of Mark and his boyfriend having sex on a regular basis, makes him sick. His roommate was no longer the virgin boy he used to drink with late at night. Jaebum was suppose to be the one getting laid all the time. He swore that jazz was depression to him. Mark is not the type of person to lie. 

That doesn’t change who he is, does it? He’s still the Mark Tuan he knew and fell in love with. The Mark downing his first cup of coffee for the day at 8 a.m. is still the same Mark drawn in charcoal on the ripped piece of paper nailed on the wall near his study table. 

Even if he had his heart to another, that doesn’t mean he can’t throw away his right?

He should. But maybe later. 

He needs this kind of pain for his next Caravaggio and Claudel-esk artwork for his project. If he’s going to live with it, might as well make an expression out of it, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This [Mark](https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/712483603539130957/) is dangerous. Take note JYPE.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a sober mind.

####  **Loneliness, My Friend**

[Always dreaming for a dream to come true](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92nsOGmP0gg)

Kissed by the white moonlight and lulled by the dull chronic white noise of the night, he rests peacefully under the covers. Jaebum found the cynefin he never once thought he needed in this tiny dorm room of theirs. In this comforting silence of light snores they share, lies the sharp pain of a knife digging and twisting into his chest. This pain only he could have brought upon himself.

Days for him feels long and drawn out, but the nights were when he feels restless. He scrutinizes the man beside him. Soft hair, luscious lips, pale skin, and that adorable little flaw of his that rests right above his upper lip that he desperately tries to hide every day. 

Back when Mark cried for ~~that bastard~~ Jackson, Jaebum was the one who offered him to sleep next to him so that he wouldn’t feel lonely when he wakes up. That might have been one of the may reasons why he is in love with his roommate. Mark is fragile, yet _determined_. He always manages to pull his head back from a hole when he has to. It takes courage and some bitching to do that. Jaebum envies that of him like the way Mark envies his turbulent art. 

But now that he’s nowhere close to drowning himself in pity, guilt, self-worthlessness, and rejection like before, Jaebum is forced to wallow in his own shameful pit of despair alone. Mark needed not for his comfort anymore. Now it was the opposite. He was now the one sleeping on Mark’s bed in the middle of the night. 

In the back of his head, Jaebum thinks he’s annoying Mark more than anything. Well he wouldn’t be if he didn’t have to wake him up just to ask permission to sleep next to him on his bed. Mark once told him that if he wanted to sleep beside him, just do it—no need to ask. They’ve done it before many times, why should he feel insecure now? But, of course, Jaebum is never one to listen and ends up pissing him off each time he pokes his roommate awake just to ask permission. 

Even if Jaebum receives a grumpy affirmation, he smiles. Mark is always buried under his book of journals and ledgers, he barely has the time to take a deep breath. Especially now that he’s dating that boyfriend of his. It becomes hard to see Mark. Sure, he’s there doing his schoolwork across him, but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. 

A little hum or hushed assurance would be more than enough for the time being for Jaebum. 

He should be proud of Mark’s achievements. He’s been rooting for him all these times… Has he though? Quite frankly, no. He never really cared for that Jackson guy. He never once thought of it as getting Mark to be better than choosing that prick to broke his heart. It has always been him being the one next to Mark whenever days felt like shit. 

The late drunken nights, the pain-escaping jazz marathons, the secret promises, the silent agreement between them, the warm breakfasts during foggy days, and the library hideouts. There never once was a Jackson Wang in their story. So why is _he_ getting all the glory? It should have resulted differently.

But in the end, he is none other but a side character in this romantic play, and Mark had the starring role. 

He’s hanging by a thread these days. Barely even living at this point. Jaebum has to complete his portfolio by the end of the week as his final project for the year. It’s the same project every other year but this time his professor is setting her standards way out of his league. 

He has become the art student equivalent of his roommate, minus the boyfriend part. They’re both stressed and are in desperate need for a break. So Mark invited him to come along with him to the city on his monthly date with Jackson. It’s not much, but it’s the only thing he could come up with that could help Jaebum get out of his bubble. The man has barely got out of university grounds other than the pubs they’ve been to and that shop where he buys his art materials from. 

At first, Jaebum pulled off the Fag excuse again but he did ended up accompanying the couple of their date. Mark swears it won’t be one so that he won’t feel left out. Jaebum digresses. 

He meets Jackson at the station where Mark tells him is their usual meet up spot. Jaebum’s first impression on the guy? Eh. Not too bad. The man’s buff, but not too buff. He’s definitely the healthy-looking out of them three. He later learns that his physique is with the aid of his sport. If Mark didn’t told him, he would have had the impression that Jackson boxed. 

They purchase two bottles of cheap wine and some Leek-and-Pecorino Pizzas to-go so they could enjoy the sun view. There happens to be a fish market nearby and so they snuck in, went pass the giant rocks, then settled a spot under the docks. They used their coats as makeshift picnic blankets as they set their very little array of food. 

Mark barely drank. Five gulps, maybe? Hard to tell since they forgot to buy glasses. Jaebum and Jackson, on the other hand, were tipsy. He challenges Jackson in a fist fight and the latter idiotically agrees. Mark cheers for them both at the side, laughing as he watches them both exaggerate slow motion action sequences, accompanied with comical sound effects. 

Jackson is a pretty decent guy, Jaebum would later conclude. He could see why Mark fell in love with this dunce. He was literally a fool in love. And that only hurt him more. Jaebum stood no chance against a guy like Jackson. Though he was a good guy, Jaebum grew to hate him more. He made him feel worthless and beneath everyone’s standards. 

He winced when he saw Jaebum open a box of cigarettes. He asks him if he smoked to which Jaebum wittingly responds by denying before taking a long drag.

。。。

[In this darkness your fear is getting bigger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyWm8DUK06M)

Jaebum hates himself. That’s why he seldom comes along with the couple in their dates to constantly remind himself that he has no life of his own, he can’t keep a boyfriend, he can’t ever have Mark, there’s a man better than him at it, and that his pages are as dull than a blank skeet.

Mark doesn’t mind bringing Jaebum alone. If it means helping his roommate get better, he’ll take him with him anywhere he wants to. He thinks he’s helping Jaebum becoming better by saving him from his sinking ship. Jaebum was there for him when he had those days, now it’s his chance to pay his debt.

He somewhat feels bad for his friend since he’s paying for all his expenses. Albeit, Mark has assured him every time. Mark makes sure he’s always the one serving the plate here. Often literally assigning them portions. He presumes Mark wants to give Jackson the best of everything for all of them. It did weirded Jaebum a little before but he’s not paying so why should he complain?

Jaebum enjoys dying whenever he saw the two sneak a kiss, find ways to touch the other in none sexual ways, whisper I love you’s, and stare at each other in random moments. Jaebum enjoys not being in love. He gets to play Mr. Grumpy and he’s fine with that as long as he gets to be the shoulder Mark leans on to on their ride back to their dorm building.

Jackson pulls his boyfriend, pointing to a store signage to which he happily nods before they hold hands and rush in. Jaebum follows the lovebirds in then accepts the pool cue Jackson hands him, hearing the somber melody of the trumpet as he approached his roommate. The room temperature rose to maybe at least 10 degrees so they took a layer off of their clothes. 

He sees Mark grin ear to ear as he fetches for the rack. Jaebum learns of a forgotten pastime of his—snooker. He gleefully recalls the days when he would sneak to his father’s stag room and play all by himself whenever he got bored.

Mark teaches Jaebum how to properly play. It was the first time Jaebum felt so intimate with Mark aside from their cuddle sessions and train slumbers. This is different because this time Mark is neither crying nor sleeping. He is wide awake and aware of the position they’re in. 

The glee in his eyes, the merry melody of his tone, and the giddy mannerisms of an excited child all in Mark. It’s not that hard to spot. One would have to be blind not to see such blessing. 

It is to be expected that Mark is the winner on the first round. Jackson hypes them up for another, asking for a marathon of The Diamonds in the counter, starting off with Every Night About This Time. He glides his way back to his boyfriend, smiling as he gives him a wink. 

Mark laughs as he dances he along with his boyfriend to the jazz, punk, rock, and pop tunes, clutching the cue close like it was a prop. He takes Jackson’s hand and twirls towards his chest, giving him a delighted kiss in the chorus of the third track. 

Jaebum suppresses his disgust in a huffed smile. It’s the first time he’s seen Mark dance and, honestly, he’s not sloppy as he thought he’d be. His smile arguably brings the charm in amidst this masculine-fueled room. So he takes their dance break as the opportunity to take a smoke break but before he could light up a cig, Mark beckons him to come and dance with them.

Jaebum doesn’t dance. But with Mark, it makes him fall into those eyes of his, urging for him to fall into his trap. Heck, he wouldn’t mind being a victim of it. 

In his undershirt and trousers in this dimly lit part of the room, Jaebum attempts to mimic the moves the couple learned from all those years of social dancing in Mark’s family’s ballroom. They laugh and give their applaud as the songs begin to grow somber. 

Jackson volunteers to set the pool up while Mark orders a drink for them. He didn’t mean to but Jaebum follows his gaze to Mark and he thinks he might have spotted him putting something into one of the drinks. _Is that why Mark insists on paying every time?_

He couldn’t tell whose cup was it so it made him feel anxious. With agitated eyes, he shifts his attention to his friend’s demeanor. Normal. Of course it wouldn’t be poison. Right?

They raised their glasses high before chugging them down. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Jaebum leans on the wall as he looks through his lashes. Mark unwraps his arms around his boyfriend after giving him the final kiss goodbye. Jackson waves to them both as he weaves through the bustling platform and finally to his designated train. 

He couldn’t get his thoughts away from that incident at the billiard room. Man, being sober can be quite a chore. It becomes hard for his thoughts to trace back what exactly was it that he saw. Although, it did look familiar to him. 

Mark bats his eyes the way he usually does, signifying that he didn’t feel anything peculiar, now was guilt tormenting him. As grim as it might seem, Jaebum starts to assume that he’s been doing it for quite some time, and has been running free for the past times he has done this. 

Mark Tuan, what are you up to?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad boys at their all time low.

####  **“Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.”  
― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet**

[Will I ever know how it feels to hold you close?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJg4_rL9h7Q)

Jaebum is rarely sober. He keeps taking, but never accepts. Barely even alive anymore. 

He narrowly avoids failing a course. Might as well just give up entirely. For what good can this self-proclaimed happiness of his do any better for society? For everyone else? For himself? For love?

Fag is in good hands now. A kid named Bambam, a model from one of his art classes, took her in. And now that the last thing on this world he truly cares about is in a better place and the other is happy, he can finally leave in peace. 

With all of what’s left of his savings, he drains it all down for an escape—a bonny revolver. Grand of its kind. He already thought this through. No one is going to miss him anyway. Not his homophobic family, not his self-centered friends, not even any of his exes. 

Mark would though. He’s a good kid. And maybe Jackson would too. 

Ashes were what’s left of his creations. Not one spared from the raging fire. The canvases scream for salvation as it melts into nothing. This heat. It lacks the nicotine that brings him closer to death but it gives the right ache to his pride. 

There shall be nothing left to remember him by. 

He finishes writing all of his regrets and apols in a sheet of paper. Simply ending in wanting harm to those who had wronged him. He keeps it safe in his coat just in time for Mark to collect him for their little party. Just for this special day, Mark taste alcohol the way he used to.

Jaebum can hardly focus. All he sees is Mark. It had always been Mark. 

The man is right there—in front of him. Why does he make it difficult for him? Jaebum has slept with dozens of dozens of men before. He has dated a few. How come Mark Tuan makes it impossible to pour his heart out?

He doesn’t know why he’s scared but he is. 

They retreat to their dorm room. Before he could begin his farewell, Mark wishes him a happy birthday and pulls out a cigar case, containing three. One for when they graduate, the second for his wedding day, and the final one for his final day. If followed correctly, then Jaebum can only use one for its assigned purpose.

His roommate tells him that he doesn’t fully respect his smoking habits so this is to get a laugh out of him. Partagás would do the job for a hoi polloi smoker like Jaebum because he should be allowed to feel like a celebrity in the highlights of his life. 

Mark is the angel he yearned but didn’t deserve. He’s been nothing but patient and kind with him. It may not be enough, but it’s the kind of love he needed in his life. The kind of love Mark will never feel towards him. It’s tiring to see the rain everyday. Then there’s Mark, who brings the rainbow back to the skies. 

He can’t hold it in any longer. Jaebum reaches to cup Mark’s smiling face in the palm of his hands and kisses him. Kisses him hard. With every love he has in every fiber of his being. He kisses him to a corner and pins his hands to the walls when he resisted. 

Jaebum repeats his confession between breaths, pinning his emotions down to every second of this moment. He whispers the words out, reminding Mark of what he is to him. A ache in his chest shoots throughout his body as he takes more of Mark. Then again, there is never any actual accepting. 

Mark thrashes under his strong hold. He manages to knee Jaebum away from him, giving him enough time to send him into a mental breakdown. Mark cowers down against the wall when Jaebum grabs his hidden revolver in a blind attempt to fix what he had ruined. 

Cold. His rejection and the gun’s rim around his lips. 

Mark silently pleas in tears for Jaebum to put the weapon down, not wanting their neighbors to hear them and start a panic. He inches towards him then swats the revolver across the room after managing to put him in a daze with his words. 

Jaebum doesn’t fight back. Mark knows everything now. He cries into Mark’s embrace as everything around him crumble along with him. It’s not easy giving up his heart like this. He tucked his balls and did just that…but for what? To be reminded of the fantasies that will never jump out of the book or be performed in a stage?

Played out like a broken record, Jaebum tells Mark that he’s the last person he’d want to hurt. The tears they share should be from romantic woes, not sympathy. 

Jaebum is rarely sober. He begs Mark. He begs for him to grant him one final wish for his birthday and probably for the last night of his life. 

He asks for a chance. To let him prove to him that he’s not worthless. It’s a lot to ask but it’s all he ever asks for. This is the love he seeks in others. With Mark, Jaebum knows it’ll be different. 

The agony he feels whenever he’s the extra wheel is real, he tells Mark. The miserable nights were ruses to give himself an opening to proclaim his love that never was returned. He never would have known if it weren’t for his pusillanimity. 

Mark cries. His cheeks red, lips wet, and heaving deeply between hiccups. He doesn’t want to lie to him. He doesn’t want Jaebum to leave this world this way either. He doesn’t want to be a crime. He’s caught between a rock and a hard place. 

Jaebum now accepts this, not just take. He kisses Mark, for what he thinks is the last and second time, hands desperately tugging him down and when they parted, he hands him the letter in his coat. 

Mark wipes his tears away as he reads the words of the broken man. The light wasn’t enough, but he clearly saw the agony his friend had to endure. 

He’s losing his mind. He’s losing himself to the smokes. Surrounded with the broken bottles and shards under his feet, and the remains of his will to live. At least he now gets to know what it would feel like to have him in his arms, kiss him, and cry their hearts out at the same time. 

Jaebum reaches for his gift and silently cuts one of the cigars. Mark looks up at him from the tear stained paper, asking him if he’s really serious about kicking the bucket. Jaebum asks if the one he’s holding is the one for the last part of his life to which Mark glares at him in response. 

No. Mark refuses to bear the survivor’s guilt. 

He requests for a condition of his own. Jaebum replies, saying that he doesn’t need to do this anymore, he’s satisfied with his rejection, but Mark persisted. He adds an entry to their deal: If he agrees, Jaebum must promise him not to take his life after or even contemplate for a minute if he should after this and forever, and not to tell a word to Jackson about this. 

It’s his eclipse. He might not have this opportunity again…

It’s a deal.

。。。

[You don't have to say you're mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iquhBgM-Qv0)

Mark locks his arms on Jaebum’s nape as he is being carried to the latter’s bed. They suffocate in the warmth of their mouths, tasting every last breath of liquor in it. His back gently meets the covers and soon Jaebum starts taking off his clothes. 

Under the darkness, Mark silently sheds his tears. He cooperates by taking his own clothes off and he did not miss the ardent gaze in Jaebum’s eyes as he hesitantly discards each layer. Soft kisses against his skin gives him goosebumps. Jaebum’s touches are perfervid even when he’s overwhelmed. 

He assures him that night that he’ll take care of him, make him not regret this. Jaebum feels Mark in the way he dreamt of, not like any of those forgettable one-night-stands of his, he was complaisant but resisted. It’s a drug Jaebum would love to be addicted to. 

A prayer sent to the heavens to beg for their forgiveness. He wishes for happiness, even if it had to be this way. Mark bites his lips and takes it all, but doesn’t accept. 

He tries not to think of his boyfriend as guilt would make it harder to look him in the eyes then on. Eyes closed, lips attached, sheets fisted, legs spread apart. He had always been a whore for love. 

Jaebum is rougher compared to—No! _Try not to think of him._

But how could he ignore it?

The heat in his loins wasn’t any different when he and Jackson did it. Only Jaebum’s is more aggressive and unhinged. It’s hard not to hate it. 

Raw emotions, shattered hearts, desperate scrutiny. This was the love Jaebum was looking for. Mark had it in him all along. Physical pleasures could always turn for the worse. 

It’s Jaebum’s first taste of pity sex. 

Mark forgets what happened afterwards. He wakes up beside his naked roommate. Glowing and seemingly more merrier compared last night. Jaebum promises not to make things uncomfortable after this. He may have it easy since he’s done this a lot but Mark is suffering from his own faults. 

He let this happen. 

Jaebum takes care of Mark in the morning. They both skip their courses, opting to collect themselves in the comfort of their dorm. 

By day, they could properly see what they lavished the night before. Jaebum had a decent physique for some who spends most of his time in their room and for someone who drinks a gallon almost everyday. 

This attraction is different. More unvarnished but not as vehement as his boyfriend’s. 

Mark, with only an unbuttoned shirt on, ends up in Jaebum’s naked lap. They make out on the window sill before eventually continuing under the sheets. 

There’s still pity in his eyes but he’s okay with it. All he ever needed was Mark. 

Jaebum later discovers that he could have Mark all along. He knows for sure that their second time wasn’t pity sex. He might not even have the same love he does with him to Jackson. That bastard, he made Mark sexually frustrated enough to make him fuck his boyfriend into pure bliss. 

Yes, he could love Mark. All for himself. 

Mind not of the ghost in between them since then. Jaebum suspects that Mark begins to regret their intimacy ever since he got back on his monthly date with his boyfriend. He barely even looked right back at him when he arrived. He knows Mark doesn’t have the guts to tell his boyfriend he had someone else’s dick in him. 

Jaebum didn’t regret one thing. He _will_ have Mark all for himself. No Jackson Wang anymore. 

He now has a new will to live and that is to spoil Mark the affection he deserves. He may not pay his debts back in money, but he can treat him better. Far better than that scoundrel ever could.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't listen to your heart when you're desperate. Let the storm clear out first to see what has been ruined, then fix the things you know should be fixed.

####  **Love Never Not Hurts**

[It's enough just to make you go crazy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9zYSBK7Blw)

His grip on the cellulose based plastic wheel is tight, but just a little bit tender. Hot and burning bright. He lavishes on the moment he knows he’ll hold on to until forever. Basking in the hot kisses wherever the rays could touch, Mark smiles as his boyfriend’s howls of high rings through his ears, breaking through the steady winds’ wails that threaded through their hairs.

Jackson sits right back down as he sees the emerging view of the crystallized waves the gentle sun makes it out to be. Arousing temptations of indulging in the blue waters after dealing with the dreary cold weather for the two-thirds of the school year doesn’t let his zeal die down just yet. 

Once out of the fiery red Chevy Corvette, Mark laughs as his sand patted slippers dangle from Jackson’s hold so he secures himself by wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. Silly smiles on each others. Jackson places Mark on the first counter he saw. Between his legs, he holds him delicately. Eyes close, skins warm, hearts beating in one, desperate hands fisting the auburn locks, and groans livening the once empty beach house. 

He’s on a clean high and wants to bring it to Mark. Self-promises will be obeyed. 

Jackson loves Mark’s whimpers against his lips. He loves the admiration in his love’s eyes when he lies him down on the dinner table after moving. He loves the stare he gives every time he strips. He loves hearing their confessions rising with intensity every second they get closer between broken moans. 

Black. It’s black whenever it’s over. Five, if Jackson counted it right. Starting from the kitchen, next to the living room, the couch on the back porch, then finally twice under the white sheets. Languor and labored breaths accompany the two lovers until the moon is the light. There’s no point in regretting indulging a different margin, not when he has his heart satisfied. 

Serenity in its august. Jackson cherishes the silent snores. This day, expected of tanned skins beneath the dried salty seawater, angels printed on the sand, and watermelons, ended up with dizziness after the rug burns, vividly impassioned love bites, and sore thighs. Seldom does he ever get to spend three days in a row with the man snuggled against him so he swears never to forget. The moon can testify.

The awaited days goes as promised. Since January, Mark has been hesitant. Fiddled a lot when they were alone. He hardly smiled on his own and even stopped inviting Jaebum to some of their dates. Only making an exception on his birthday when he asked for Mark to bring him with him. Things were changing again. 

He just can’t pin how everything came to be. It’s just like he woke up one day a new man. He can’t believe he missed this all this time. Mark is still his best friend, his love, his peace. Mark is the silence to his rowdiness. Mark has always been there. Mark is _his_.

He asks for the heaven’s forgiveness for keeping his diffidence. Mark sees him as this promising man with a future waiting for him, but he knows. It’s the devotion talking. If he knew the lies he’s been feeding him, Mark would see just how pathetic he actually is. 

Wondering each day. The two bites out of his food, Mark still hasn’t questioned. 

Jackson is obsessed. Tired. It’s tiring each day, but he always pulls through. He’s been fighting the mirror they make him face. It’s not him. It’s all a lie. 

Rewards he got were worthless. They were illusions. False satisfactions for his guilt, he makes them out to be. White uniforms and proud faces mask the shame he hid for his family’s reputation and for his own recognition. 

Piercing through his skin and into his veins—ignominy. Jackson is seeing all kinds of things. He can’t tell which are reality and which are delusions anymore. It’s the miserable gray clouds back at the university all over again. It haunts him in his sleep, when he’s alone, and whenever he makes love. 

Even then, he’d come running back to the fuel, burning silently once he gets a taste of it again. All for perfection. They just can’t understand how once he got a taste of the glory, he wanted more each day. 

But he stops just for Mark. He wanted to please him. Give him every ounce of love he had with him. Jackson lets him see his imperfections, just not the biggest one. Not once, did he ever let mediocrity and hunger play with his relationship. 

It’s suffocating him. 

He let’s his thirst do the job for him. The clear liquid flowing through his veins. The water that pushes the pellet down to ignite the fire that dries him out every time. Disgusted, what kind of fuckery did he ended up with?

It’s making him lose his sanity. There was rage in his throat now and it keeps coming back. Fear is the last thing he’d want to see in his love’s eyes. It’s not abuse. It really isn’t. 

Not the lingering liquor or the iced coffee in his lips, but the sunny skies whenever he’s close. Songs sang from the birds ring through his ears when Mark’s around. It has become his lullaby. Everything was in place—not a flaw present to mock this paradise. The perfect escape from his dwindling lucidity. 

But he’s not the angel. Jackson has made him suffer for too long. He made Mark wait this long for the heavenly kingdom he deserves. He was alone, and he did nothing for a long time…until he did. 

Summer will always be their days. Now almost a year in their relationship, Jackson has never felt so secured, yet confused at the same time. 

Skepticism creeps in the middle of the night, concealing under the tranquility between them. Mark wakes up to Jackson’s pondering and gaze, and he exchanges a kiss for his thoughts. With a heavy heart, Jackson lets it out before it’s too late, unintentionally stirring panic in his lover’s heart. 

He’s been stuck in a daze for the past few months, never answering its roots. Jackson is satisfied, yet unfulfilled. They’re still young so he can’t assure for a better tomorrow always. It feels _too good to be real_. He wants to know why everything felt like a bliss, Not the same bliss he usually get when he’s at a high, but the kind that frustrated him. 

Mark is sleepy and his heart feels like it was about to explode into pieces. _This love is real._ He thinks, not knowing it’s not what Jackson wants to hear. He places his boyfriend’s head on his lap and tells him he’s fine through the tears. 

He sees it. Mark can’t ignore the yellow glint in Jackson’s eyes. Different from the yellow his roommate describes it with his hurtful regrets. Reading between the lines too deeply, he misinterpreted the issue. 

Would things turn out the way they did if it weren’t for his selfishness? Would Jackson be close to him, crying his doubts out with the hopes of purgation if he didn’t love him too much? 

Jackson apologizes—with heart—for making him dwell and ending their holiday with a sober mind instead of the sunny paradise his words owed. Mark assures him, saying that it’s a night with a different confession. Jackson pulls Mark close for the rest of the night. All he ever needed is Mark. 

All they ever needed was each other. 

Ruffle is he to his own game. Mark stares at the crashing waves beyond the glass windows across their room as Jackson falls back to his slumber in his lap. Amid the dreadful silence in his own terrors, excitement kills his lethargy that retches the nonexistent fear he built. 

Was he to blame of the shame that was his greed? Was he the one who made Jackson like this? Has the red herring finally caught up with his desperation? He was sure of it. The _gayuma_ is just as strong as his love. The foundation of the illusion was the ardor of his desires. But, alas, has it come to overpower that passion?

He got a taste of the glory and he doesn’t want to lose it. 

Jackson doesn’t deserve the truth, he convinces himself. Mad is he, the precautions were there in front of him, but he chooses not to see—he never does. Has he not suffered for too long? Had not he been deprived of the love that was from his one true love?

Jackson is crazy. Jackson chose to be tormented with his own veneration. It’s not Mark’s fault. Mark didn’t choose this. Merely a victim of Jackson’s love, he had been clean from Eros’ sins. 

Even then, he’d like to know if Jackson will still love him tomorrow, or even when it’s all over: Will he still be the Mark he saw back when they were kids or the Mark he sees when he’s intoxicated?

。。。

[I dreamt I held you in my arms, but I was mistaken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HzRUQvG9Gw)

Jaebum asks Mark to repeat his words and so he does. A birthday. How delightful. He recalls another memory of another birthday. It was delightful. It was more than delightful.

A promise he owed, Jaebum accepts the invitation, ignoring his roommate’s coldness until they meet his boyfriend outside the theatre. Jackson has always been the one to make the mood livelier, smiling at the friends—unaware—shamefully swived and the desperate bird flapping its way out of Mark’s throat of it. 

Mark doesn’t let him see how he kisses Jackson differently, but Jaebum knew: His heart felt it long ago, but he still let’s it ruin him. He loves the abuse. Pain, euphoria, confusion, and false pleasure are what keep him alive, be in pills, liquor, smokes, or love that isn’t returned. 

First circle, box D, left from the stage. Mark is trapped with Jackson on his right and Jaebum on his left. Curtains eclipse the artform that is the story of Dido and Aeneas told in soprano and baritone. Dim lights engulf the room. Chitter-chatter, a woman chokes on her own laughter, locked by the pearls on her long neck.

It’s suffocating him. 

Mark is tense and more aware, amid the iciness and the insecurity, lies the untold burn in his chest. He scarcely breathed. They whisper with cheery tones, and he follows along. He feels insulted Jaebum acts like there is no elephant. He’s at ease, he should for his roommate kept his promise. But instead, he’s feeling paler. He wants to run out of the theatre. He’s mad. 

Jaebum does nothing. Sharp eyes focus on the rising red curtains, ears welcoming the crescendo, and a hair-raising performance begins. He is free from guilt, but dwelling mistakes keeps catching his attention. Jaebum can tell he was agitated, leaning to his right a lot, thinking to avoid the mental torment, he can so by manifesting it through reality. 

It’s suffocating him. 

He was curious so he glance over to the couple ever so slyly. Mark rests his head on Jackson’s shoulder, divided by their connected hands on the arm rest, he whispers a wish for a good birthday to his lover. They cloud the man they had purposefully invited. So it makes him wonder, did they do this to mock him? Did Mark wanted to test him?

He too wonders who was the Queen of Carthage in this story. She sings of heartbreak and for her love, but in the end, she chose escape. If he was the Sorceress, then Jaebum certainly won’t back down just yet. 

Blurry streetlights and love songs that aren’t meant for him. Jackson praises Jaebum’s voice, taking it as a gift. He holds out a hand for his boyfriend to take and they waltz to Jaebum’s serenade. 

Jaebum looks up at the stars before closing his eyes so he doesn’t catch the concerned look Mark shoots him between the spins. Nobody else was in the lake park to see this sad tale unfold. Whistles from resting merchant marines had them slurring, laughing, and swearing. They are all young and in love, and a little bit stupid. It’s a two-men story of unrequited love. 

It’s back to routines since then. Mark became more distant with Jaebum, rightfully treating him like a ghost of his shame. He really misses the times when they were each others wingman. Now he hardly sees his beautiful face anymore. But it’s there. It’s fresh in his memory. 

How could he ever forget a face like Mark’s. 

His beauty is different. Far better from the nameless one-night-lovers of his. His dull chestnut hair looking like it could smell like his favorite black coffee radiate more than it should. Those specs he wears whenever he has a test to be preparing brings back the humanity in him. Passing out on his table whenever he pushed himself too much. Sometimes even staying up until Jaebum woke up. 

It’s been so long since he last touched him. Too long since his dick had been in him. Gruelingly long since he tasted the scent of sweetened coffee in his tongue. It’s making him mad. Once he got a taste, he wanted more. They’re all addicted to the glory. They’re all the same. 

Jaebum glances at the portrait gift nailed on Mark’s side of the wall. 

He misses Mark. 

Not just the pity and morning sex, but the jazz nights when they’re shitfaced down on the pavement, singing broken love songs to cope their pathetic life on alleyways, and going to random museums to pretend to be sophisticated. Or when Jaebum escapes the wrath of one of his profs because he didn’t care to do it to the library where Mark is there, waiting for the clock to tell him it’s his next period. 

Mark smiles when he’s free. He opened of the loneliness in his old house. No brother, nor sisters to go to. No mother to talk to. No father to look up to. They’re all people he didn’t want to become, he shared. 

Mark admired culture, Jaebums knows because although he doesn’t want to be the posh bastard in the friendship, he does have it in his nature. Though it’s not his cup of tea, Jaebum ends up liking that side of Mark. 

Those were nothing but memories now. Memories he’ll hold on. 

He thinks about him a lot when he’s out on his dates. A little bit too much. 

Jaebum could remember the night he was close to death. He had never been in such a rush, ending up with the man he loved beside him. It’s a memory he’ll hold on to until forever. It’s the memory that haunts him when he’s alone. 

The ache becomes too much. He tries to fight it out, but Mark’s face keep coming back to him even when he closes his eyes. The Mark nailed in front of him wasn’t any help either. The burning sensation was all too much. He reaches for his button and relives that memory of the anniversary of his birth. 

Jaebum groans the lover’s name that could never be his, spilling out from his quivering lips like a mantra. He shakes once he reaches his climax, unintentionally landing on Mark’s blankets so he burns them while he’s not around and later denies knowing its whereabouts when questioned by his roommate. 

What did he say? Pain, euphoria, confusion, and false pleasure are what keeps him alive, be in pills, liquor, smokes, or love that isn’t returned. Even when it’s his own love he’ll take. 

Dog days aren’t Jaebum’s thing. Bad memories come along with it so he isn’t one to look forward to it. Mark is packing his bags to go back home, blissfully unaware of Jaebum’s frustrations. 

Mark bids him goodbye for the break before leaving. It’s the longest time he’s acknowledge him other than wanting something mild, like a ruler or a spare pen. 

The first day, Jaebum is idle. It got tiring to imagine so he stop pleasuring himself. The second day, he’s wasted, barely remembers what he did. He thinks he might have slept with someone. He really doesn’t know. All he knows is that the room he wakes up in, isn’t his dorm room. Third day, he decides to use his reoccurring images of Mark to use by doing what his reputation brought. 

Know he can’t think of Mark because all he sees is Mark. On the wall, on the table, on the window, on the lamp, on the wall, on the shoe rack, the bathroom, the door, on the wall, the doorframe, the wall, on Mark’s favorite mug, on the wall, on everything. 

He’s in different colors: Red, black, blue, yellow, green, charcoal, oil pastel, mold, everything. Whatever he wanted to be, he could make it. He could paint him, sculpt him, trace him, outline, ink. Whatever he wanted. He just had to say it. 

Why won’t he say it?

His eyes, his nose, his lips, his moles, his hands, his body, his areola, his shoulder, his knees…he memorizes them all. His fingers grazed them. All of them. Jaebum know what Mark looks like underneath his woolly wool caramel taffy sweater. 

He has to tell him what he wants or else he won’t know. Jaebum wants to know. He has to know. 

He’s here with him. 

Why won’t he tell him? Why can’t he tell him?

JUST TALK GODDAMNIT!

Mark never left—he’s always been here. 

Mark is everywhere, but his heart. 

No, he’s there! It’s him who’s not in his heart. That bastard, Jackson Wang, is. 

Images of Mark, they aren’t enough. They aren’t Mark. Curves and spaces look like him, but they’re not. Mark knew to cry when Jaebum is going insane. He smiles whenever Jaebum made something good for once with his course. 

He needs to hear him, see him, feel him. 

It’s been a long time since he got on a train on his own. He sees the cattle farm—he’s getting warmer. A family known for their wealth, birdies point him to the right place. 

Jaebum sees the patriarch’s red Chevy crushing the gravel, and out through the golden spiked gates. He prays they won’t take too long, but he later learns he’s wrong. Cunning is he, sneaking through the hedges and pass the servants without a trace.

On the night, it’s easier to climb up to Mark’s room without getting caught. He’s not there. Hours pass and he’s still not there. Next day, hope is starting to dwindle. He places a sketch he drew of Mark as he idled on the third on the dresser as if he had brought it along with him all this time then disappeared to wherever his damned soul takes him.

Tanned and tired, Mark tumbles on his bed immediately when they got back. Jackson follows behind, storing their bags to the side before pulling out their night clothes for another censored sleepover. An image falls, he’s confused; Mark is aghast. 

Jaebum is crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How intense can a story get when it's accompanied with music?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** : Depiction of violence and sexual violence present in this chapter. Read at your own risk.

####  **“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”  
― Edgar Allan Poe, Letter to Maria Clemm**

[I'm tired of being played like a violin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMP-o8WXSPM)

A bum’s bum is bum. Nearly a day of staring at the window while shuffling on his disease vacated seat, derrière aches and he craves for a drag. Foolish he had been to have left his packs and not one left for his extended journey. It’s this itch he cannot deny. Hungry without his sticks. He needs one, but can’t get a hold of one. HA! How fitting to his sad tale of love. It’s the only addiction he can tame every now and then.

Machines they screech and off Jaebum goes, running pass the moving crowd, skips his troubled way to the old library with a tune in his lips. An old face, he recognizes. An old friend of his. In desperation, he comes home to the memory of petty competition, poems, pickup trucks, and the smell of uncle Lee’s chicken coop. 

Jinyoung greets him with a scolding, but he’s happy to see his friend nonetheless. He sneers and leers. Jaebum hasn’t been back for almost two years. He expected strawberries and vanilla, but the retched stench of death and misery fills the shop like mom’s fermented whatevers. My, how the years haven’t been too kind for them. Albeit, Jaebum had it worse. 

Jaebum is glad Jinyoung didn’t have much of a pleasant year either. Lucky to know he’s not the only one under shit. Some bloke with dependent tendencies snugged then broke up with him, he learns. Passion there was some; Heartbreak there it comes. They recount the highlights of their young reputation, laughing at the down-lows over a drink at his uncle’s barn. 

Merry the night is, full of nostalgia and flustering memories of them sharing a kiss back at 16, 17, and confused. Well, at least they knew then they were fruits. The memories they kept holding on until now and forever. They hurt. They make drunk grown ass men chortle and wince. 

Jaebum mourns for his future, having been green for all his advancing life. It’s cruel, gruesome, in the city. Barely has anyone there to share his troubles without being labeled a problem, a disappointment, a heathen, _a vampire who consumes human fluids_ —a failure. It gets lonely really quick; hence, his break. He just needs to be away for a while. 

Jinyoung nods then tells a tale of his first taste of bitter jealousy. They had been enthusiastic of falling in love once aware of their love for the same sex. Though, not rare, they are forced to wear the veils that keep them scared so finding one had been his joy. But, alas, the attraction only lasted there. No emotional dependency, he supposes. Now he sings along the words of the Tennessee Waltz along with the radio. 

Wait—Has his ears toy his with sanity? Or is it “Has his sanity toy with his ears”? A name he knew. A man he met. Surely it couldn’t have been him—He was!

Coincidence? Perhaps. 

Now Jaebum ignites a new flame in him, greener than ever. Not only did that Jackson Wang take his one love away, but deprive his friend from his love as well. He’s got hell in heart for him. It’s the only excuse he has now. 

Back to the misery written streets. His wallet nearly empties. He makes a fool out of his friend to taking him, never once was the sage man he once thought to be. Jinyoung is confused, waves his friend goodbye then walks away, guessing when he would next see him again. 

Jaebum dwells on the station, lurking in the corner where he’ll find the man he’s looking for. Squinted eyes scrutinize the bustling path, kept peeled for an old friend, whose friend isn’t just a friend. There! In his auspicious reputation, concealed in mundane colors, he struts. 

He pursues the man, blissfully unaware of his presence, a pleasant song he mumbles under his breath. Jaebum waits until darkness envelopes the streets will he then strike. Behind the corner at the nearest bus stop, he begins his forlorn rage. 

If anyone were to ask how it felt for Jaebum to seek retribution for the rejections—he’ll honestly say he couldn’t remember—but he can recall what he felt when he slid down on the ground, wet from the leaking pipes, against the wall with a fag lit between his quivering cracked lips, heaving his smokes out beside the unconscious body; [pure rush.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5_GxRi9jKM)

Better than the pills, he found the thrill he has never known. He felt alive again. His hands trembled when he took out his fat lighter. He hurls the digested food he forgot he ate. 

How long had it been to feel this nervous? How long had it been to puke from guilt? 

The look on his face when he first swung. Oh, how priceless. He loved it. He loved the fear in his eyes. Those eyes that didn’t open, not after he’d gone mad. A madman, he is. 

This madman’s hands…they taint red. Vigorously. Vigorously he rubs the metallic scent on his shirt before burning it in a bin along with his shadowing crime, fleeting with his wifebeater on he then escapes the night with horrid thoughts following him close. 

Will they be after him? Fuck! Of course they’ll be. He fucking killed the guy…he thinks. He’s not really sure. It’s red back there. He must be then…right?

Right?!

Fucking shit!

Bang! It pierces through the air. Was that a gun?

He glances over his shoulder, a trash can—tin bang. Not a bullet. No. Alright, alright. Jaebum is deluded. 

Right, right, left, pass the restaurant, another right, across the freeway, and through the villa. Not to pass the streets of where he’d go. Wait…where is this? These aren’t the corners he knew. There should be a meat shop in here. Oh, that’s right, this isn’t his street. 

Where is he?

He pales. Air came like ice, freezing his lungs, drying his mouth. Thump, thump, thump. His heart beat louder than his heavy footsteps did. Hair disheveled, demeanor manic, legs aching, sight blurry. 

It increased his fury, pushing his stimulus to its very peak. This newfound drug he’s addicted to. Better and worse, it shrills through his veins, painfully—very painfully—it devours him. 

And to the night he successfully escapes. No witnesses, no hindrances, no mercy.

。。。

[Give me just one taste to sustain this addiction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=na7tMqKmes0)

He gasps. Pain for his eyes to see. Lifeless, vivid, motionless, a boor. He sees him by the window, he stalks pass the door, he watches from the walls, he preys above the ceiling, behind the sheer curtains he scrutinizes. Their room has become a dull mirror.

Those tender eyes, they lack the fear in his. This heart it beats—louder than what the silence brings. Lips curled into smiles. It’s not the reflection of his disgust. Down to the last detail. Perfect and simple. It’s him, but it’s not. 

Hundreds of him—EVERYWHERE!

One by one, Mark takes down every paper of different kinds, the red, black, blue, yellow, green, oil pastel, the everything. Trashing them to the other bed, flutter they came and smash some did. 

He stares at the final reflection. The charcoal memory of his first year in uni. He roars. Tearing it off the wall like it was nothing. It had become his everything, but to him, it’s nothing. This has gone too far. The doubt has already begun to boil within, he needed not for this trivial conflict. He has had enough. 

So he decides to be away. On the days his roommate was missing, he arranged a new arrangement. And by the time he had come back—what a coincidence it had been—Mark was already down to his last two bags. 

Apprehension, written all over him, from his face to his posture. Maybe a little bit hungover too. Just to have come back from his night of sexual favors for a fee back in the city, blasphēmia he brings to his image. Jaebum wearily addresses the confusion. He goes back to begging, the portraits scared him, not _him_ , right? So what’s the point in moving? 

Mark stands firm, grabs his bags and bids him goodbye, hopefully not indefinitely—in the best way. He doesn’t looks back, not to be persuaded once more with Jaebum’s excuses, not even death. Sure, he would be guilty, but he just couldn’t stand it any longer. 

Back to the place of loneliness, Jaebum stares at the thrown paintings of Mark. The only Marks in his life left now. Days go by then, he still juggles everything. The alcohol, the syringes, the paint, the iniquity, the isolation, the turmoil that is he. 

A new school year comes, and there is no sign of fingers pointing at him. He did this for Jinyoung, for Mark, and for himself. 

Where is his reward? An empty dorm with no one to drink with. So he doesn’t let it ruin it now. 

He doesn’t care if he missed a lot of classes just to watch Mark from a distance. He memorizes his new schedule, familiarize new friends, observe known habits, admire the smile he seldom wears. Now that his boyfriend is gone, he won’t have to wear it the way he did before. 

Three storeys above his previous room, with a brown-nose freshman named Kim Yugyeom. An annoying prick, if he’d be honest. A fire escape, how convenient. He waits until Mark comes, the hour of when his new roommate wouldn’t be back for another two. 

No need to be scared, he approaches the panic-stricken man with his hands up. A madman’s poem he recites but rejection is what he keeps getting. No. He refuses. He done it all for Mark. He chose to live again just for Mark. So he’s not taking no for an answer. 

Jaebum places a hand over Mark’s mouth, deafening whoever might hear. His neck he bites, his tears he licks, his screams for salvation he hushes. Who would save a faggot? Mark is forced to be quiet, only letting tears roll as Jaebum takes out a familiar weapon tucked behind, in his pants. If anyone knew two fruits were under the same roof as them, they’d go crazy. A riot!

It’s there again—pure bliss. Let it ruin him once more. He loves the abuse. Pain, euphoria, confusion, and false pleasure are what keep him alive, be in pills, liquor, smokes, or love that isn’t returned. It’s all coming back to him. And it’s definitely the love that isn’t returned that fuels him good. 

He has Mark’s bare back against his chest as his hand wraps around his cock, the other to muffle his cries, protests, and unwanted lewd whimpers, taming his flailing arms under his arms. He’s powerless, the friction makes him black. His extended legs shake and he bites Jaebum’s fingers when his body undesirably gives in. The disgust he feels is immeasurable. 

Jaebum had always been careful with Mark, but not tonight. This night, he shall feel the pain he has felt all this time. Not settling for one round, he slams Mark on his new bed, and wrecks him. 

His thrusts are angry—no pleasure, just pain; no passion, just pain—it causes of sharp gasps and prolonged suffered groans spilling out Mark’s bloodied lip. Jaebum slaps Mark, only because he slapped him first. 

There’s a new passion in Mark and it makes him spit on Jaebum’s face, but the sick bastard. He loves it. He loves the abuse Mark returns. 

This isn’t love. 

He’s a madman. 

The audacity he has to light up a cigarette afterwards, made Mark hate him even more. He may be tired and a mess, but he still had hatred within his heart to dare accuse him as a worse sinner than he is. 

Jaebum is mad. He could spell out everything he loved about Mark—down to every detail, heck, he even literally drew it out for him—but the latter always chooses to turn a blind eye. Before he leaves, he asks him to tell him what his bastard boyfriend told him what he loves about him. 

Mark bites his cheek, gritting, he demands never to let his lover’s name escape from his tragic sinful mouth. And Jaebum snickers before leaving him pathetic and naked in this cold room. 

Mark has a hard time coping. How did things end up the way they did? Take him back. Back to when everything was miserable for all the right things. 

Why did Jaebum have to make him hate him? He was desperate for love, how different are they? Where had it gone wrong? The woes, the misery, the addiction, the suffering. 

He doesn’t know how to feel. He’s not even sure if he felt anything…something. Nothing. Not even the burning wounds of his loins could make him feel. Not his dryness in his throat, nor his strained core. 

Numbness? Is this how it felt? Is this what it felt? Is feeling nothing what he felt? 

The tears have stopped, but he still feels like he should still be shedding them. When Yugyeom came back, was when he then brought back to time’s trap. He’s losing his mind again. A prisoner for lust and desire. 

He too once felt the jealousy in Jaebum’s eyes, knew what he had gone through, but not to this extent. Jackson loved him now. He loved him with all. He knew…he knew. It’s different with Jackson. So question why did it ended with his dignity flaking into bare shame. 

Jaebum had always smelled trouble, Mark didn’t know it’d lead to this—on the shower floor with his roommate frantically looking for bandages for his gashes. 

Regret never comes first. But nothing could have prepared him about the news of his boyfriend.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back then art was refined, but the world was shitty for a lot of people.

####  **Ways To Say “I Love You”**

[No, I cannot paint pictures with my tongue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJZuu3lENCs)

Time is heartless. Dread served in the worst moments, out of all things. These walls befouled with white promises? A mere obstruction to this babel that brings him away to the real suffering. Strayed from the screeching wheels, the haring people clad in profession, the last cries of a dying baby, click-clacking of the mistress’ footsteps, and the static of the morning news.

Mark swallows the heartache as he trudges behind his uncle who wore an equally upsetting look. Each step is a foot farther down in a quicksand as Jackson’s immobile body comes to view. Million amende honorable he would pay to the breathing corpse. If only he had known sooner. Hadn’t it for the selfish days he dwell on trivial conflicts.

This hope. It shatters into glimmering teardrops that only the heartless would find lovely.

Endowed with raw talents is he. Cannot be wrapped in bandages like a gift. There’s more to him, yet the world never gives him what he deserves. He needs to win. He has to get over this and collect his trophy so he has to open his eyes first. Please…

They hear the words of chagrin pass through their ears. Yes, hear, not listen. How could they bring themselves to it? As gut-wrenching as it is, they were the truth. All those aspirations and dreams chucked out of the window, confused for a ne'er-do-well’s reverie. Without a doubt—there is nothing left, but only time will tell.

He craves to give his embrace, offer his _undying_ love. Instead, he bawls and fists the sheets Jackson lays on for days and nights when he still had been spared the hours of visits. Mark would cry oceans for him, if it weren’t for the affair.

A best friend he is now to the devastated father sharing his agony. In a ward where their love cannot be shown, there too are eyes peering through the curtains for concealing.

Who could make way for a queer love? Not just anyone.

Slumberless hours, and intimation grows harder to give. In his pathetic state, Jackson offers his _best friend_ a vitalizing smile. Alas, it did little to hurt the anguish of not being to help as his rightful lover to the horrendous crime inflicted upon. Mark hasn’t told Jackson yet, but he thinks he knows.

Jackson could feel it. He could feel the misery seeping underneath his skin and throughout  
his bones . He didn’t need to be told. He knew it was going to be like this, but he still silently prayed it wouldn’t come to this.

If there was a God, then where did his prayers go?

Fencing gave him joy. The pride he wore with the aid of his family’s reputation is cosmic. There had been desperate moments, he won’t admit, but it made him stronger each time. And so to give it all up for his brittle state? After everything he had worked for?

He sacrificed a lot. Devastating numbers. It ruins him. The thought of never getting back those he lost in the waives. So much has been taken away from him. These were what mattered to him the most. And now they’re good as gone like smokes.

Needles, suffocation, purges, shattered mirrors. All for the perfect image of a star.

Where is he now? In a hospital bed? Beside his thwarted father and grieving friend? What a sick game life tends to play!

Prison isn’t a place far from paradise, but he asks for the heavens to bring it to whomever in exceptional lengths of living pain that he too is suffering. May the bastard who did this to him rot in hell longer than eternity.

What else is there waiting for him? This warped body, his crushed soul and vindictive heart have nothing else to give. What would be the point? Passion had been his fuel. So what were he to do now with it when nothing can he procure?

Jackson became no less, nor greater than a breathing bag of flesh with hatred keeping him sentient—it’s a dog’s life.

It weren’t the broken bones, torn muscles, horrific scar-expected gashes, and the blood that got washed away by the rain that took away his joie de vivre. No, it was the dream that costed for a second chance. A new life he would preferred not to live with debris of whatever was left of his previous life.

The doubt, the loss of motivation, the messy list of absences, the deprivation, the lack of moral support, the frustration of the case. It has become too overwhelming for Mark too quick. Still no traces of the perpetrator and Jackson’s recovery has been staggering—Mark is losing it!

Why?! Why couldn’t the police find anything to help them? Worse, they’re leaning to believing that it had been a random assault by a homeless man. No! Jackson needs to be given justice.

He feels lost. Jackson decreases in intake, barely even a gulp down to cure his own famine. He’s starving, but he’s full. This time it’s different.

The biggest irony is that the only time he felt alive is when he’s knocking on death’s door. All the despair dumped unto him at once. That is what living was like before: attention, false sense of honor, selfish satisfactions, and drought.

Staring at the repetitive rhythm of the fan, Jackson savors the last moments of the glory days that never had its peak before they become a memory. A fog is what he thinks it should be called. Mark is by his side, barely even at his peak of interest.

Jackson entertains the lad. Tells him a secret after it was only them and the moon. He speaks of analogies, cadence: ambivalent. A simple story of how he drowned in the inconsolable pit of vulnerability, woebegone. Everyone dreams of becoming a star, to shine bright and reach the heavens, but we tend to forget that the universe nests more than one star. And so we cruelly discover that we’re not as unique as we thought we were.

Worships on repeat. How artless was it truly? He, they, she, we. It’s easier to say the same cheer to the other. How can he tell who really is the greatest? The fittest? So he made it his way of living. He didn’t care he was drawing the line between death and life with it. Jackson just wanted the perfect body, the perfect soul, for them to notice.

Arduous it had gotten so, grudgingly, he asked for dope’s hand to cope with the unfathomable éclat he is harried. It had been killing him since, and now he really is moribund.

If Mark could slap him, he would. Jackson is more than that. Vices to fix self-degradation is like a sticking plaste over a bruise—you think it’s helping, but it could have healed even without the sticking plaste—he would know.

These past few days, they were his wake up call, Jackson claims. He’s never felt high-free than ever before. But that’s because his intakes are monitored. This was what Mark feared. Goddamn Jaebum thoughts too. He hated how it got to him. Of course, Jackson loves him even at his bed he drifts between reticence and vain confessions.

See! Even without it, he still treated him as his everything. A far stretch when Jackson proclaims to be nothing. It’s the moment playing, Mark convinces. It hurts to know too, but it definitely isn’t him right?

Mark’s determination and dedication are challenged. From all the pressure put on to Jackson, he’s becoming hostile even when injured like a prey on its hellish journey into carrion for the vultures to feast on. His words come out without forethought…they hurt.

It’s the stress talking. Jackson doesn’t mean to deprive him of his attention. He needs sleep anyways so he can sleep all he wants. Silence has always been their consolation. This is nothing new.

But please love me tomorrow, okay?

There is a breakthrough, or so he has heard for what seems like an infinite days of tribulation. One vital information Jackson professed that might have something to do with the ambush. Oh, joyous of sleepless nights. His sorrows can now be put to rest. He’ll do whatever it takes.

A hard shove to the wall, dare he say, shameless was the force, but that’s not how it felt. Mark looks up, stunned. Disgust spat in his eyes as the guttural words hammered into his head. People peer to the ruckus before the nurses break uncle away from him.

 _Tapette._ If he bleeds, can he only return to a ward. Those hands paint red like the castles in the air he had titillate the man’s son—his lover...his best friend. Because, of course, to whomever receives, shall bear the burden of shame.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. NO!

Ban? It’s not fair. He’s not the only daffodil in the bouquet. It’s not Mark who seduced him, honest! Why isn’t uncle listening? His cries echoes throughout the hallways, how is he not hearing this?! He pounds on the door, loud and desperate. It’s too annoying so they dragged him out.

The fingers have already pointed at him. They know now. How he visioned the revelation to end in rainbows! But the storm has no desire of ending.

There is no rainbow, only rain.

。。。

[You're my favorite work of art](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27398omqBGM)

Mark feels like he’s nothing because Jackson did nothing and said nothing to stop them from dragging him out like it was nothing. But that’s nothing to what Mark felt. Nothing like the betrayal the night Jaebum came to his room.

Peril stakes. He should worry at the task taken out of his hands. No matter, he’ll find a way. Mark comes back through diligence, he’s done nothing wrong! Why should they deprive him of his lover?

Jackson should rejoice. He shouldn’t have asked him why he was back. He should have pain written in his eyes, but there wasn’t a single drop of ink to fill up a single word. He shouldn’t have that kind of regret in his tone. He should have told the nurse it was okay.

Mark is not sick, merely acting through passion. He cries for God, but he wasn’t there. He never was there for him. Had he not learn from his father?

‘I love you a million times more than a pious does to his God’, gone. The promise of a lasting bond on the silver bracelet Mark kept all these years. One was when he was drunk, the other when they actually had something.

Discrimination, examined by scrutinizing eyes and disregarded by snorting men trusted on his boyfriend’s…his ex-boyfr—his boyfriend’s case. Typical friend and foe. They’d never believe the story. If they can’t believe in illusions, then they surely wouldn’t accept the truth. 

The smokes in the cloak and mirrors for daggers. They can’t understand. Mark clenches his fists as the police ask him questions, tone treating him ever so futile:

Does he know the victim?

Yes.

What was he to him?

Only a good old friend of his.

Where was he at the time of the incident?

Between a rock and a hard place.

Is it true he had sexual encounters with the victim?

…No.

Does he know someone who could have done this to the victim?

No.

They look at Mark like he was the perpetrator himself, or herself. Who knows, really? It leads to nowhere, but at least they have a clue, or at least they think it is since Jackson himself revealed that they were an item.

In this gloomy noir plot line, Mark is the side character. The black coffee. He comes in strong, but is ultimately consumed until forgotten, only if it weren’t for the chronic bitterness lingering.

They have no use for him. Expected is he to board and go. No place to stay, no ward to rest, no one to look after, no use in the case. He shouldn’t leave just yet. He still needs to address the misunderstanding with his uncle. Mark can’t be away from Jackson for so long. Prithee, not to last for a lifetime! Not when Jackson hasn’t made a full recovery yet.

Mark would sacrifice everything. Their love might not be entirely true, but his heart beats for him. He feels it pounding harder than the thick raindrops landing on his head. It was he, who broke it, and only he could mend it.

He needs to be with Jackson. He needs him. Jackson needs to be with Mark. He needs Mark to love him again. Jackson needs Mark to love him again. He needs the _gayuma_ for Jackson to love him…always.

It doesn’t feel like it’s over yet. He still has a chapter left in this story.

Mark can’t bring himself to leave the bench. His heart isn’t satisfied. NO! There has been a mistake. Jackson had his thoughts muddled, that’s all. It’s the pain killers. Jackson has been clean from dope. He’s just new to this sensation.

In his selfish daydream between his mocha overcoat, greeted with Jaebum’s frantic eyes, stumped. Jaebum demands to know where he had been all this time through tears. The days he’d been saving to find Mark in this dammed city. He kisses where the soles touch and cries his apologies in cursive, arrant disquiet in the unforgiving station.

Mark hates him with every fiber of his soul, but it’s not his fault.

Firing rage he had, true, but the will he had grew weaker. He’s tired. Mark asks for Jaebum to collect his dignity, to stand up. Weary for this bullshit and the whispered aversions at the harrowing scene, he leaves with disdain.

But, unfortunate for him, Jaebum persists. Fear with a string of venom in his voice, he questions if he had gone to Jackson, and Mark gives silence. He trembles, clinging to the prudent in him, he begs for forgiveness.

He’s not crazy as he paints him to be. Jaebum has been depressed, that’s all. He bled through the absence, not from the dreary faults of that absence. He trembles in fear, veins electrified. The words he spews, jumbled and unhinged.

Jaebum admits. He pleads guilty to the love that had gotten out of control. He only ever loved Mark for him to act vile and heartless.

Provoke is he, Mark doesn’t need this too. He needed not to be reminded of the baptism of fire that night. Insensitive, he rasps. He’s in pain and he never once offered any remorse to the suffering. All Jaebum cares about is his forgiveness.

Jaebum is in purgatory. His trial has yet to be served. Heaven isn’t expecting, nor hell is waiting. Mark thinks wrong. He doesn’t know. Good.

Mark wanders to a soda shop, not knowing where else to shade the lousy, sad, pathetic rain. Screeching, unapologetic, Jaebum dallies across him, cash spent on traveling fees. Mark is too kind for his own good sometimes, gliding the quarter empty fountain glass. Strawberries—his favorite.

Neither two have a place to stay for the night. Mark brings back the regrets to let them haunt him, torment every guilt he had left. Jackson could be dying and he’s in a offensively bubblegum pink shop with the man who wronged him, choosing records for the jukebox to accompany their varying despair.

And in this unspoken, yet never unnoticed, affliction, Jaebum lets the voice of Gene Austin wane this dammed place.

_Once more we meet,  
You look so sweet,  
Dear, can't you see how I feel?  
I Love you still,  
I Always will,  
You have the same old appeal!_

Vain attempts, Mark would never be one to give up easily. Jazz felt sadder whenever Jaebum was around. Back when it used to have the purpose of mutual pain, Mark sees two love, different to each, ruining the men. Both, they turn a blind eye to their liability.

_Though you belong to somebody else,  
Tonight you belong to me!  
Though we're apart,  
You're part of my heart,  
Tonight you belong to me!_

Jackson…Where did it go wrong? Mark would do anything to fix their broken bond, make him see the world beyond the fluff again, show him the better side of the trouble like he used to.

Plead he’d chant. To whomever could answer the wishes of the dammed, he’d come running, not matter. A heathen he had become. In the eyes of the Lord, his uncle, and to his own lover. What is there left to do to be able to claw his salvation?

_Down by the stream,  
How sweet it will seem,  
Once more to dream in the moonlight.  
Though with the dawn,  
I know you'll be gone;  
Tonight you belong to me!_

Jaebum asks him if he knew what he was suffering, Mark doesn’t so he let’s him have his homily.

He doesn’t know what hate and love is anymore. Who Jaebum pursues to be loved by him, hate him: Who he elude, love him, or so they claim. It’s what’s best for him, they’d throw to his face. To be a better man, to help him find his faults, to make him live a death wish.

_Down by the stream,  
How sweet it will seem!  
Once more to dream in the moonlight.  
Though with the dawn,  
I know you'll be gone;  
Tonight you belong to me!  
Tonight You Belong To Me!_

Why is it wrong to love a man as a man? Was his deteriorating lungs such a big deal to them? How bad is asking for drugs’ help bad?

Giving up his heart, it wasn’t easy, yet he ravished in loving and making love to a man. Jaebum knows it’s wrong, but, hell, it’s good to be that way. Choosing not to see is easier than choosing not to feel.

So he made a mess out of himself. Gave away his integrity and life. He played along to what life threw at him.

Jaebum no longer knows why he keeps coming back to the pain. It gives him gratification, but for what? To be condemned by those around him.

Mark closes his eyes. He’s tired.

**Author's Note:**

> insta: zyn.hya (personal acc), prozesbyjane (second acc) 
> 
> [Pinterest mood board: Gayuma](https://www.pinterest.ph/jackacequinn/au-gayuma/)


End file.
